Twangs and Accents
by Figment of an Imagination
Summary: Pointless crappy PWP ; LietPol


A/N

Shitty PWP

...written in class, one period (One hour and some of distractions, and freshmen bitching loudly and arguing with me...)

Er... enjoy the crap?

I don't know when it began, the weird accent. He always had it, though I'm sure when we were really young, nearly unpopulated nations, it was different.

Nonetheless, it is annoying. The twang, the giggles, the hair flipping and eye rolling – he is no better than a teenaged girl. We are centuries old, should he not have grown up by now?

He still laughs over the stupidest things, getting angry over even smaller things. Dirt under his nails? A screech would follow. Or maybe it was a kink in the hair this time…

Either way, it makes for a long day, a longer week, and don't even get me started on the years we have spent together.

Though… I must admit, there is one bonus to his speech pattern, and girlish ways.

When we are in bed together, suddenly, that irritating accent turns into something sly and teasing.

"Lieeet," he was drawling out, practically purring, "Like, come over and join me."

I glanced over towards the bed, only to look away quickly. Upon the soft covers was the blond polish nation, propped up against the headboard of the bed, legs spread, naked save for the thin boxers. It was his needy look, eyes lowered, light eyelashes lowered over the bright green eyes.

He knows how to get to me, and he knows that I know what he wants.

It only takes a small giggle, a trailing hand, before I find myself walking closer, until I'm sitting on the edge of the bed.

Another soft laugh, a cocky grin and a feminine flip of the hair, and I'm leaning closer for a kiss. He really does take care of himself – his hair is probably nicer than France's, softer and definitely looks cuter.

My fingers are already in the blond locks, my lips covering his softer ones (Why does it always taste like fruit when I kiss him? I shouldn't mind all the lip gloss I suppose). Soon, I am climbing over him, bodies melting together and hands brushing over the familiar form. He is purring out my name again.

"Lieeet... Liet, Toris…" My lips are on his neck now, sucking and nibbling, hands on the edge of his boxers, tugging them down (I should be thankful that they are men's, and not women's underwear again).

"Would you, like, hurry up babe?" The drawl isn't nearly as irritating now, more so, is it a turn-on, and all I can do, is nod, my palm and fingers cradling his length, stroking slowly. A pleasant whine fills the room, drawing me closer to the source.

"Oh god, Toris... you are so like, mean!" Feliks was getting louder by the second, and I slowly increased the friction until I had him writhing under me. He shoved a bottle in my face, which I took, drawing my hand back to slick my fingers.

I glanced down at the sight, and swallowed hard. Panting softly, his pale hair haloing his flushed face and legs spread wide. His length was jutting up, begging for more attention.

First, was the index finger, sliding in with a smooth ease, surrounded by tight heat. Poland closed his eyes, and I drew his lips back into a deep kiss, his tongue already in mouth, and searching out attention from my own.

A thin arm wrapped around my neck, one hand sliding under my wrinkling shirt. I added a second finger to the first, meeting more resistance, though the Pole didn't seem to be minding at all.

My shirt was undone, and as were my jeans. Feliks was stretching a hand to grasp my covered length, earning him a choke groan, muffled by his lips.

And then it was the third finger. This was the worst for him, and I knew it. Stretching and scissoring against the resistance was hard enough, let alone dealing with the pain. Like every night, I found myself peppering soft kisses on his face.

"Okay, so like, I'm totally ready… so would you, like, hurry up Liet?" his voice was unsteady and his breath was quickened. I nodded, grasping at the bottle of lubricant, and withdrawing my fingers slowly.

I tugged my pants off; my mouth covering Poland's again as I slicked my length up quickly. Careful not to get the lube on Feliks (and save my ears the screech of 'GROSS!'), I pressed the head of my cock against his entrance, slowly entering him.

He hissed, not from pain, but from pleasure, hips pushing to meet mine as I filled him slowly. A soft moan slipped past my own lips, my length engulfed by the tight, hot walls.

It did not take long at all, before we were in a mess of heated, sloppy kisses, grinding and thrusting.

"Like, god...Liet... Please!"

And that accent was all it took to drive me over the edge.


End file.
